Drive
by element90
Summary: They settle into a more comfortable silence and just drive.
1. Chapter 1

A soft night, a little warm, the first quiet night since it ended. The longing to be alone had been overwhelming. The solitude frightened her, but fear and panic were within her somewhere always. For now.

She stared blankly at the building a short distance down the street. Hers. Never to be again. She had driven the city streets, too restless. And ended up here. The motion of the car, the hum of the engine were welcome sensations. To keep moving felt like being alive.

Her hand had trembled when she reached for the phone in the passenger seat, the identity of the caller displayed on the screen as it buzzed. She didn't answer it. Felt sick. She felt hands upon her, uninvited and cold, she felt liquor burn her dry throat, bones crack, skin break and blister. She had clenched the steering wheel until her breathing had returned to normal.

The phone buzzes again, nearly forty-five minutes later. There's no involuntary shake in her hand this time. She taps the screen, eyes still locked onto the building.

She hears a quick intake of air on the other end.

"Liv."

There's a light rustling on the line, and she blinks but lets her eyelids remain closed.

He sighs and she can imagine his fingers rubbing across his forehead. She imagines him in the dark, using the night as cover. Then images, rude and forceful, flash in the darkness and her eyes immediately open.

"Liv?"

Her breathing has quickened once again, and she grabs onto the sound of his voice to steady herself.

"Where are you?"

Moisture gathers, blurring her vision. She had not been particularly attached to this place, her former building, but the tears well up just the same.

"In the car. Outside my apartment. My old apartment."

She hears the rustling again before he speaks.

"Stay there," he gently commands.

The rustling grows louder, then subsides but is replaced by other sounds, squeak and scrape, thud, ding, and ignition.

"You're coming here?"

He grunts. "That's why I asked you to stay."

"You didn't ask."

There's a long pause. But she's focused on the building again, a young man exiting. He looks both ways, steps into the street, eyes her through the windshield as he passes. She hits the automatic lock button.

"Where're you supposed to be tonight?"

"I don't know…"

He tries again. "Liv, where are you staying right now?"

"With someone."

There's another pause, longer than the other. But she's watching the man walk across the street, toss a glance over his shoulder in her direction as he moves away from her, down the opposite sidewalk.

"I need to leave," she says suddenly, chest constricting.

"What's wrong?"

"There's a…" She scans the area for the man.

"What?"

The street is deserted, the sidewalks as well. The man is gone. She exhales a long, deliberate breath, feels foolish and increasingly restless.

"Nothing."

Though they remain on the phone for the duration of his drive, they do not speak a single word. Until he is parked a few spots behind her.

"Liv?"

His voice shakes her from her thoughts, and she catches sight of him in her side mirror. Her door opens, but she remains seated in the car as he leans in to look at her face. She ignores his close examination, tries to, but the proximity and the increasing impatience from waiting for him to arrive are starting to become too much.

"I need to keep going."

He crouches beside her. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know, I just, I feel better when I'm moving."

With a quick nod toward his own vehicle, he encourages gently, "C'mon."

"I can drive myself."

"I know," he replies, taking in the bandaged wrist.

Finally, she looks at him, but hears a different voice in her head. She bites her lip and swallows down the rising bile. Elliot hesitantly offers his hand, which she instantly accepts to his surprise.

Her eyes are distant, cloudy. Her skin is ice cold, too pale. He applies slight pressure to transfer some warmth, leads her carefully to his vehicle. When she sits unmoving in the passenger seat, he reaches to secure the belt, brushing against her upper body. She abruptly grabs it from him, buckles herself in.

"Sorry," he whispers, pained to catch the glimpse of fear in her face.

Receiving no reaction, he closes the door and circles the front bumper. Once inside with engine running, he gives her a quick glance.

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere," she echoes softly.

So, he leaves the city, heads to something less gray. For several minutes, they are silent, she's focused on not thinking, he's trapped inside his head with a thousand thoughts. He watches her in his peripheral vision for a sign of any kind, but she gives him nothing. Until she speaks.

"You have to drive every mile back, remember."

"I don't mind."

She yawns, runs her uninjured hand through her hair.

"Also don't mind if you sleep."

She stares out onto the dark highway, yellow and white lines rushing by, ignoring his offer. "I didn't expect anything from you."

"Understandable," he replies, nodding solemnly, shifting in his seat. At least she's unmistakably realized he's here.

"Turn around when you get tired."

"I've had a lot of coffee. Might be frequent stops, though."

She smiles faintly and his chest swells a little. Small flickers of her, making her seem less broken and it's more than he can ask for right now.

He drives miles and miles, the distance to nowhere. And she sleeps, curled partly on her side facing him, chin tucked low. He turned up the heat when she had continued to shiver, and then resided to pulling over, snagging his jacket from the backseat and spreading it over her like a blanket.

She muttered words under her breath at times, jerked, clawed at the seat. Evidence that she's still a victim. He parks the car under the bright lights of a gas station, brushes the hair out of her face, his fingers lingering upon her temple. She sighs, barely audible, and mouths a word. He makes sure to lock the doors before heading to the restroom.

When he returns with two bottles of water in hand, she's wide awake. Beads of sweat shine on her forehead, chest heaving and eyes closed tightly. She jumps when he unlocks the doors.

"Olivia," he says, simply, but it's laden with the strength she needs to fight off the remnants of the nightmare.

She holds the air in her lungs for seconds, counting off each one, lets it out slowly. Elliot starts the engine, switches the vents to blow cool air, which she welcomes against her skin.

"Here." He offers one of the cold bottles.

She sips at first, and then downs the liquid quickly. He hands the other to her, but she shakes her head. Her attention turns to the window, tall trees lined up behind the small store.

"What's this place?"

"Wide spot in the road."

"Elliot," she starts, eyeing the dash, 11:17 on the display, "Why aren't you home in bed?"

"I'm driving you around," he states dryly, pulling onto the two-lane road.

She sighs. "You know what I mean."

"I don't need to be home in bed right now," he explains, adjusting the rearview mirror for no reason.

"Fine."

She sounds too resigned for his liking. He frowns slightly but opens the water bottle, finishes the entire contents to rinse the taste of stale coffee from his mouth.

"Are you ready to go back?" he asks, tossing the empty bottle to the back floorboard.

She keeps quiet and still, eyes locked onto the headlight beams guiding their way.

"Liv?"

Nothing.

He expels a puff of air from his lips, settles deeper into the seat. "You feel better when you're moving."

Her head turns a fraction to her left, her lids fall closed momentarily and for a second, the first in many, she breathes easily.

They settle into a more comfortable silence and just drive.


	2. Chapter 2

She's sitting in the chair after pacing, wiping down the countertops, adjusting and readjusting objects on shelves. He won't be coming home tonight, like many nights. She's tried reading, watching television, and mindless web surfing. Unsuccessful, she resorted to lighting an aromatherapy candle that she bought on a whim. Made a salad, didn't eat a bite.

So she sits in the chair, staring into the flame, never giving the phone a glance as it alerts her to a call and she lifts it from the table.

"Benson."

"I'll be there in two minutes to pick you up."

The flame dances wildly from the gust of air expelled from her mouth.

"Did I forget to mention this?"

"What, you're going to drive me around every night like an inconsolable infant?"

"I've done it with the kids. S'not a problem."

"I'm not a child, Elliot."

He winces from the annoyance in her voice. "Yes, I know that. You meeting me out front?"

Without confirmation, she ends the call, blows out the candle. After slipping on some shoes and a sweatshirt, she finds herself standing on the sidewalk watching his car pull to the curb.

"You followed me here last night," she says, as he gestures with a nod to the passenger side through his open window.

"Never tried to hide it," he replies, as she buckles in. "So, whose place is it?"

She positions the air vents to divert the flow away from her. "Brian Cassidy's."

"Seriously?" he asks, blank expression. "How'd that happen?"

"Long story," she sighs, relaxing against the headrest.

He checks traffic in the side mirror before pulling out. "That workin' out okay?"

"Fine."

With a quick look in her direction, he starts to say something but decides against it, grabs for an item in the backseat.

"Brought this for you."

She takes the plush blue blanket into her hands, smiles. "Smells like baby powder."

"It was Eli's. Thought it'd be better than my jacket."

She inhales the scent again and thinks about the baby boy once wrapped up in her arms, naked and new. Suddenly feels sad and uneasy.

"What?" he inquires, concern apparent on his features.

She slowly forms the words. "I appreciate what you're doing, but -

"You gotta let people help sometimes, Liv," he interjects.

Spreading the blanket across her lap, she asks, unconvinced, "You?"

Elliot swallows, shrugs. "I'm retired. I've got the most flexible schedule."

"Yeah," she mumbles, watching a few pedestrians pass as the car idles at a stoplight. "How's that going for you?"

"The free time is good," he answers, pressing the pedal when the light turns green. "I miss the job."

They can go through hell and still want the job. She understands that more than anyone right now. She tucks the edges of the blanket under her legs.

"Miss the people," he adds, looking in her general area.

A half-smile graces her lips. "The people miss you."

His eyes go back to the street, his own small smile forming. Her eyes close within minutes as drops of rain dot the windshield. He steals glances, watches her chest rise and fall evenly, watches her lips part slightly. The storm gathers strength and the wind-driven heavy rain drowns out all other sounds.

For the next three hours, he travels under a black sky highilghted by the intermittent flashes of lightning. She rests peacefully save for the few quiet, anguished moans. He wonders how long the horrors will claw their way into her slumber.

When she wakes, she rubs her eyes, ties her messy hair back, yawns and stretches her neck. He hands her some water, and she digs into her bag, brings out a small bottle of pills, pops a few with a large gulp of the cool liquid.

"Headache?"

She screws the caps back on the both bottles and stares out the window, trying and failing to identify the surroundings. "That too."

His hand roughly massages the back of his neck, then fingers pinch the bridge of his nose in attempts to keep him from clearly imagining the extent of her pain.

"Ready for real sleep in a real bed?"

"Yeah, I am," she replies, mostly empty. "I'm guessing it'll be a while before that happens."

He pauses momentarily to let the meaning sink in, then sighs under his breath.

"At what point did you stop driving the kids around?"

"After a few months." He glances her way. "Eventually they didn't need it."

She closes her eyes, if only she could be capable of willing time to advance to when she doesn't need so much.

"I really could do this every night," she admits, pulling the blanket closer. "Guess it's a bad habit to start."

He weighs her statement in his mind. Let her have a few hours to feel any degree of better, though cramped in a seat. Have her stay in, no rest at all. Bad habit or not, it's worth it.

"Have I thanked you?"

He lowers his chin, eyes pinned to the road ahead. "It's not completely unselfish."

Her eyes open, look upon him tenderly; they exchange a silent understanding, and he hits the blinker and hangs a right, miles to go.


End file.
